Truth’s Tailor

I’ve been getting a bit sentimental for the past recently. Thinking about a time when I could believe what I was told on TV. I could watch an advert for, say, Del Monte orange juice which featured a happy healthy community of people in a country far away, putting all their love into producing a high quality enzyme-rich orange juice with all the goodness of sunshine, abundant with earth’s ancient minerals, a perfect start to every day. The adverts would typically feature the day when the Man from Del Monte would come and test their produce to see if it stood up to his high standards. If it did he would say ‘Yes’ and the community of eager orange growers would run about shouting, ‘The Man from Del Monte he say YES!’

How lovely this world was, the allusion to a co-operative farming set up, working in harmony with the local community, in partnership with the values of a man wise and powerful enough to know the difference between good and bad. And Oh but he was so handsome, this Man from Del Monte, in his cream linen suit and Panama hat. I trusted him then, just as many still do now.

Sometimes I long to go back to this delusion and the simplicity of believing that the system is there to provide what is truly best for us all. But about 8 years ago I crossed the Rubicon. I now know enough about the Man from Del Monte, and his sort, to know that there are forces in the world which cannot, will not, connect with the common good and that power and money has the ability to distort everything. Health, food, air, water. Power will stop at nothing. It is insidious. Power naturally takes over the system, like bad gut flora. It permeates and diminishes. And I have to remember to love and be grateful and fill my fight with friendliness or the very thought of it would turn my body to acid. Yes, it would be easy to be bitter and to get mouthy about it at parties. Power wants the freedom fighters to feel bitter because it is such a bad look and it kills us off.

I met a most articulate woman at a party the other day. For social reasons, she was managing her subject matter, determined not to spoil another evening out, by telling people…what she knew.

Her three sons had autism. She knew exactly why they had autism, because she had researched so thoroughly, reading medical papers, text books, attending lectures etc. As a result she was deeply articulate and able to discuss vaccinations and their connection to the intestinal wall and in turn the connection between the neurological development of a baby’s brain and their mucus membranes.

She began to say a couple of things about her boys, but stopped herself, proclaiming, “No, I said I wouldn’t get into this – no one can take it…!” I urged her to go on assuring her that I could take it. So she allowed herself ten minutes of information giving about her journey of discovery. Ten minutes soon turned into sixty minutes. This was no day-tripper, her knowledge on the subject was immense. I have never directly encountered a mother more impassioned, more articulate, more informed about the actual chemistry of autism, than her. She spoke so eloquently about the reasons behind the autism, but also the reaction she has had from the mainstream, who themselves were of course, perpetuating the problem.

One particular incidence she sighted involved her youngest child being taken into hospital for an emergency, where, far from being listened to and supported, she was set upon by medical professionals who, noticing that her boy was not vaccinated, put her under intense pressure to do so, there and then. She kept them at bay for as long as she could, but in the end, to shut them up, she asked to see the ingredients of the vaccination in question, whereupon she quizzed the entire gang of medical bullies about their knowledge of the impact of each of the ingredients on the intestinal wall of an autistic child and when they couldn’t answer, she answered for them, washing the floor with them, working herself into an articulate rage all the while.

Of course she has been vilified by health professionals, as well as other parents and friends, for her frustrated attempts to communicate what she knows and so she has chosen to take a break from being ‘that woman’ and has made a decision to focus on other things for now. I crawled out of the party, but not before giving my new friend my email address and begging her to write for the NHF!

I suppose what struck me was that she had been fuelled by a belief that she could still win people over with good sense. She was so keen to contribute, so sure that logic would prevail. If she could only get people to listen to the truth then surely everyone would be glad, no? But truth has to be dressed up, just as lies do. Truth cannot simply be the natural beauty, love child of divine parents, who needs no introduction, the shining light that unites us all. Just as Del Monte’s lies need to be put into cream linen suits and Panama hats, so too does truth. We must learn to sell it with charisma, to pretend we don’t care, we must sneak up on people with it, impart it as a joke, leave little surprise packages of it hiding in flowers. Truth must be the most popular guest at any party. Truth has to be fun to hang out with and should never feel heavy or worthy, overly earnest or angry, proud or bitter. Everything in this world is a popularity contest and truth has to line up with the rest of the scum to be in with a chance of winning.

When you begin to see certain things differently, you look at the mainstream news with different eyes and you get angry. When you find a portal to the other side, a bridge over the Rubicon, it all starts to make a new sense and the old sense feels like a betrayal – the people who perpetuate it feel like your enemies. You want to shoot them down, shoot the whole system down. But in fact, we have far more chance of winning popularity if we consider these same forces as our future friends.

When the Man from Del Monte says ‘Yes’ and you know that he is also saying ‘yes’ to Monsanto, to blocking GM labelling, to keeping consumers in the dark, to supporting a regime that promotes disease management ahead of nutritional prevention and is applauded by those who profit from it, that he says yes to vaccinations, to Agenda 21, to shutting down health freedom and to enslaving us all, then rather than shoot him down in a torrent of information and rage, make note of his tailor. Get yourself a beautiful Panama hat. Let the sunshine in. Because if lies can look that good to the masses, imagine what a bit of cream linen can do for the naturally beautiful truth.